


Retrouvailles

by aliatori



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dominance, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Reunion Sex, World of Ruin, if you're surprised that this is bottom!Gladio I don't know what to tell you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 08:05:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15601977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori/pseuds/aliatori
Summary: Whatever this is, whatever he and Cor have constructed out of the rubble of their previous lives, it evades definition, the boundaries constantly shifting like lines drawn and redrawn in the sand, erased by waves made of duty and necessity.After being separated by their duties, Gladio and Cor reunite.





	Retrouvailles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chiii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiii/gifts).



> inspired in tandem [by chiii's lovely art](https://twitter.com/chi_peppers/status/1026504689309741058) and many long conversations about Cordio
> 
> beta'd by the inimitable [Xylianna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xylianna/pseuds/Xylianna) \- all remaining mistakes are mine
> 
> happy birthday, chiii! thank you for being kind, amazing, and all around wonderful—I hope you enjoy.

‘Home’ has become a complicated word.

Home used to be Jared greeting him when he got back from the Citadel with the smell of curry wafting in from the kitchen, and evenings out with Ignis trying to unwind from their stressful day to day routine, and taking Iris to after school tutoring sessions before heading to Noct’s apartment, and having friends and a social life and a legacy to uphold. But the darkness has stolen all of that, and now home embodies a host of nouns Gladio struggles to apply to reality: transience, impermanence, survival, endurance.

One thing remains constant. If home is what you make of it—if home is where the heart is—then Gladio is finally home.

He’s so tired that when he goes to unlock the door to Cor’s place, he fumbles the motion of slotting the key inside the lock, scratching up the already weathered doorknob. Gladio manages the small but seemingly insurmountable feat, pushing open the door and stepping inside the cozy space.

There’s a routine when he comes back from an away mission: first he takes off his boots, then he hangs up his Crownsguard jacket on the hook beside the door, and then he stands and waits, letting the fact that he’s come home alive _mean_ something to him, take root in the spaces in his heart laid barren by the struggle of living.

Sometimes Cor has his own business to attend to—he’s Captain of the Crownsguard, after all, and a world full of daemons that never sleep needs attention—and Gladio finds the apartment empty, quiet, devoid of the life that Gladio needs to feel alive himself. Other times, the better times, Cor waits: reading a book, filing paperwork on the rickety kitchen table, or fixing a modest dinner with what food they can scrounge up from abandoned cities and salted fields. Tonight, Gladio’s alone, the thumping of his pulse and the low buzz of the overhead ceiling light the only noise in the apartment.

Several layers of dirt, grime, and daemon blood cover Gladio’s clothes and skin, so he resigns himself to a rationed shower, scrubbing away the evidence of several weeks spent in a caravan clearing supply routes to Lestallum. The lukewarm water does nothing to ease the tension in his shoulders, the ache in his chest—he wants Cor, he wants the familiarity of his face, the comfort of his touch.

It doesn’t seem like that’s in the cards tonight, so he surrenders to exhaustion, falling into bed and a dreamless sleep in the span of minutes.

* * *

It takes three more days for Cor to come back from his own mission.

In that time, Gladio keeps his hands and hours busy, spending what free time he has outside of Crownsguard duties with Iris. In an even more rare occurrence, Ignis and Prompto are stationed in Lestallum too, so they catch up over dinner one evening where they pool their resources and eat like pauper kings. Prompto, as always, does a great job at guiding the conversation, bracketing the heavier topics with jokes and anecdotes that keep the mood from sinking too far. Over the course of the meal, Ignis smiles several times, milk blind eyes crinkling at the corners, and Gladio considers it such a vast improvement compared to six months ago that he forgets his own hurts for a while; Gladio lets the image of Ignis and Prompto lacing their hands together underneath the table drift over him without sinking in, refusing to wish for a set of circumstances he’s unlikely to find for himself.

Food shortages and daemon hordes aren't the only inconveniences in the world of ruin. There are a plethora of problems related to the apocalypse descending on their star, and one of the worst has to be sleeping: trying to sleep for hours, not sleeping at all, sleeping too much, and pretty much any sleep related issue caused by the lack of sun to regulate his rhythm.

Naturally, when he gets home from Ignis and Prompto's place, Gladio can’t sleep.

He spends a lot of time laying in bed, staring at the off-white popcorn ceiling of Cor’s apartment, wondering if maybe he should get up and start on the inventory that needs to be submitted to the ‘Guard in two days. He dismisses the idea and continues to toss and turn, the mattress springs creaking under his weight, moving on from staring at the ceiling to staring out the window, Lestallum’s orange-red lights visible through the thin curtains. He considers calling Ignis—they both seem to have the same amount of trouble sleeping these days for various reasons—but decides better of it. On the off chance his friend has managed to get some rest, Gladio doesn’t want to interrupt it.

He’s about to call Iris, because he’s lovingly endured enough of his sister’s foibles across the years to feel zero guilt about calling in a favor (literally), when he hears the front door click open.

Gladio summons every ounce of his self control to keep from leaping out of the bed. Whatever this is, whatever he and Cor have constructed out of the rubble of their previous lives, it evades definition, the boundaries constantly shifting like lines drawn and redrawn in the sand, erased by waves made of duty and necessity. Still, he throws back the covers and stands, stretching out stiff shoulders before exiting the bedroom; where once he found the air in Lestallum heavy and humid, there’s a slight chill to it now, prickling his skin into gooseflesh.

Cor turns his face in Gladio’s direction even though his hands move of their own accord, still folding his uniform jacket into neat creases, forming a small, perfect square to go on the chair beside the door. “You were awake.” Cor pauses and snorts, the sound weaker than usual, his blue eyes bright in contrast to the plum coloured smears beneath them. “It takes you a few more minutes to come out if you were asleep,” he adds.

“Yeah. Having a bitch of a time with sleeping lately, at least those times when daemons or people haven’t run me into the ground,” Gladio says.

“Any reason?” Cor asks, an infinitesimal tilt of his head accompanying the question.

“The usual.” _I missed you._ “If only sitting in front of those Six-damned UV lamps was a miracle fix.” _I was worried about you._ “Iris swears she’s getting some colour back from them, though, so that’s something.” _But we both know it’s easier not to say the real reason, don’t we?_

Cor’s eyes go a little unfocused, though exhaustion tempers his expression, shadows his normally bright and piercing gaze. “That’s something,” he echoes in agreement, continuing about his routine. 

If Gladio is a creature of impulse, then Cor is one of ritual, so Gladio waits with all the patience he can muster as Cor goes through the motions: adjusting his boots so they rest flush against the wall, hanging his keys up on the dull brass hook next to the door, unfastening his digital watch and setting it on kitchen table. It’s a routine from his old life, or so Gladio suspects, a holdover from the days where he lived alone and only had himself to worry about, precise and methodical as always, even in these small gestures.

Finally, Cor looks up. “Come here.” It’s a hair’s breadth away from being a question, the words as soft as Cor’s voice gets, and Gladio moves.

When Cor wraps his arms around Gladio, one around his waist and the other around his shoulders, a hand resting at the back of Gladio’s neck, he takes the first full breath he’s had in weeks. This is the part of the routine they share together, a wordless coming together, a reassurance with bodies and touch that both of them are still here, that no matter how many sunless days they spend apart, they will find each other at the end of them.

Gladio lowers his forehead to Cor’s, inhaling the musk of him, undeterred by the sharp spike a long stretch of caravan travel makes in the scent. He wants to put his hands everywhere at once, re-learn the angular contours of Cor’s body, and when he can’t quite decide where to put them first, he decides to simply wind his arms around the middle of Cor’s chest, drawing him close, breathing him in.

“How’d it go?” Gladio asks, because it’s the question he always asks, a part of _his_ routine.

“Mission accomplished. No casualties,” Cor says, terse and brief. He runs his hand down Gladio’s back until he hits the space between his shoulder blades, then moves it back up to curl around Gladio’s neck again, the firm pressure reassuring and perfect. “You?”

“Good.” _Now that you’re here._ It must be some kind of sight, Gladio stripped down to his boxer briefs and clinging to a mostly clothed Cor like his life depends on it, but he doesn’t care, he _doesn’t care_.

“Nothing I need to concern myself with?” Cor’s hands tighten on Gladio as he asks the question, a question with so many layers that peeling them apart would take more time than he has.

“Fuck, I hope not,” Gladio responds with a quiet laugh, lips curling into a tiny smile despite himself.

“No news is good news, or so people keep insisting.” Cor draws back, pinning Gladio with those brilliant, captivating eyes. “We’ll catch up in the morning.” It’s as close to apologetic as Cor comes.

“Sure.” Gladio can’t help himself—he brushes his lips against Cor’s stubbled jaw, right underneath his ear. Then he lets Cor go, releasing him to finish the rest of his routine.

“Get some sleep,” Cor says, reaching out and giving Gladio’s bicep an affectionate squeeze.

“Will do.” Gladio runs a hand through his hair and spares Cor one last, lingering glance, drinking in the sight of him, before returning to the bedroom they share.

As Gladio settles back in bed, he listens to the distant, watery hiss of the shower, a comforting noise that eventually lulls him into sleep.

He doesn’t know how long he sleeps, only that the sleep is dreamless, as black at the everdark sky above Eos, and for that he’s thankful. Something on the edge of Gladio’s perception stirs him to consciousness, a slow slurry of sensation, making him float to the top of his awareness like he would float on the Vesperpool, sunlight dappling the crystal water and pricking at the backs of his eyelids. The first thing Gladio notices is the weight of Cor’s head on his arm, not quite enough to make it numb but fairly damn close; next comes the heat of his body underneath the blanket, rolling off of Cor in steady waves, enveloping him like a second layer of cloth.

Gladio blinks in bleary sweeps, vision blurry, the details of Cor’s bedroom—their bedroom—filling in with each pass of his eyelids. When he reaches some semblance of coherency, he finds Cor’s gaze waiting for him, eyes half lidded, the striking blue of them easily visible even in the dim confines of the room. It’s unusual for Cor to sleep this close to him, and even more unusual for him to be studying Gladio with such an intense gaze in the middle of the night, stripping him down to the core with a single glance.

More gaps are filled in the closer Gladio gets to true wakefulness. Cor’s calloused palm rests flat on his lower belly, right below his navel. His breath coasts along Gladio’s shoulder, barely perceptible if every nerve in his body weren’t buzzing with heightened awareness. He recognizes it for the gift it is, Cor’s solid, muscular body pressed against him, his eyes searching, only the quiet sounds of their exhalations audible in the still night air.

Gladio’s not _afraid_ to move, because fear isn’t an emotion he’s prone to, especially not with Cor in such close proximity, but he appreciates this closeness for what it is and doesn’t want it to end too soon. This kind of touch, this coming together in the middle of the night, tangled in each other’s space, basking in each other’s heat and breath—it’s not Cor’s thing, not really. He’s been around the guy long enough to know not to expect tender, heartfelt caresses and lazy Sunday mornings (if there were still mornings) spent in bed. There’s always work to be done for the both of them, and more than that, there’s always a need for distance, for space to redraw the boundaries in the sand before they drown in the distraction.

He makes eye contact with Cor again, his own eyes half lidded, and rubs his free hand back and forth across Cor’s chest, enjoying the defined musculature and dusting of chest hair beneath his palm. Cor doesn’t make any move to stop him, so Gladio rests his hand over Cor’s heart, counting the steady, even heartbeats that reverberate against his skin.

There’s a charged tension to the air, a thrum of lingering desire, powerful and fragile in the same turn, that keeps Gladio from asking for what he wants.

Lucky for him, he doesn’t have to ask with Cor.

Any words Gladio might have had are swallowed by Cor’s kiss, sudden and fierce, his tongue pushing into Gladio’s mouth with an urgency that pulses through Gladio like the magic from a potion (when they still worked). Gladio kisses him back, the blood beating in his ears, and dimly registers the slow slide of Cor’s cock against his thigh, warm and hard. Cor tastes of mint and _Cor_ , which makes Gladio groan into the kiss, blindly reaching out to grab onto any part of Cor he can reach.

When Cor snakes his hand under the band of Gladio’s underwear and palms at his soft cock, he bites his lip and groans again, feeling himself rapidly swell beneath Cor’s efficient touch. There are no more kisses—there might not be until after—but Cor dips his hand down to cup Gladio’s balls, the roll of his fingers a frustratingly gentle massage, until wrapping around his cock again. Cor pulls back his foreskin and swipes his thumb along the head, drawing out a tiny bead of precome and spreading it around. 

Gladio ruts into Cor’s fist, steady and persistent, his back arching off the bed in miniscule motions as he does. He bites back more words that are both meaningful and meaningless— _more, I want you, Cor, please_ —and gropes for Cor’s cock instead, panting, his own erection twitching in Cor’s grip. A flicker of shock courses through Gladio as he finds no fabric to impede his progress. Cor’s cock is thick and firm in Gladio’s hand, veins raised and prominent beneath Gladio’s fingers, and Gladio begins to ache anew.

It’s a comfortable routine, them stroking each other off while laying beside one another, the motions a pleasurable second nature, but Gladio wants more, wants more even though he can feel Cor’s regard drilling into him, devouring his every reaction with barely a hitch in his breath.

To that end, Gladio lifts his hips and tugs his boxer briefs down, kicking the twist of fabric off once it reaches his ankles. The heat in Cor’s gaze, so at odds with the pale blue of his eyes, burns a hole right through Gladio, starting a fire that has only one way to be doused.

Cor takes his hand from Gladio’s cock and moves it down; Gladio spreads his thighs by instinct, making more room, encouraging the intrusion, _welcoming_ it. After a few moments of massaging his perineum, Cor teases at Gladio’s hole, tracing the puckered rim in excruciatingly careful circles.

“You need this,” Cor says, a primal, heated possessiveness in his voice, one that reaches out to the empty places in Gladio begging to be claimed.

Gladio closes his eyes and spreads his legs further apart, knees up and feet flat on the mattress. “ _You_ , I need _you_ ,” he murmurs, the words slipping out of him before they can be stopped, splitting him open and leaving him raw.

The noise Cor makes can only be called a growl; it winds through Gladio, spreading between the vertebrae of his spine like liquid fire, igniting the need he’s suppressed for nearly a month and a half. When Cor withdraws his fingers, Gladio distantly hears himself make a deeply unsatisfied noise—not quite a whine but a damn close thing. He drifts towards Cor’s retreating form, desperate for contact, desperate for connection, desperate for the reassurance he craves. There are thunks and clicks that Gladio doesn’t fully register, mundane noises that batter at his hazy thoughts.

Cor’s finger nudges at his hole again, this time slick with lube, and Gladio lets out a relieved sigh as Cor presses it inside of him in one fluid motion. He tries to open his eyes, he really does, but the fact that _some_ part of Cor is inside him after so long seals them shut like glue. Cor preps him with the same discipline he always does, working that thick, calloused finger in and out of him, over and over, until several drops of precome have trickled down Gladio’s cock and he’s worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

A second finger nearly joins the first, circling around Gladio’s rim in a lazy circle. “Open your eyes,” Cor says.

It takes a gargantuan effort, but Gladio’s never been one to deny a command from Cor, and this command proves no exception. He opens his eyes to find Cor laying on his side, propped on one elbow, and even though his face is obscured by the shadows that swathe the bedroom, his cerulean eyes are locked with Gladio’s. The tension melts out of each and every one of Gladio’s muscles under the regard, his legs falling open as any resistance bleeds out of his body; he’s rewarded with a second finger joining the first, and while it’s not quite what he needs, it’s getting closer.

There’s something unbelievably intense about Cor’s eye contact as he fucks Gladio open on his fingers. A flush spreads up Gladio’s chest and neck as Cor finds his prostate, brushing against it on every inward thrust, stealing the breath from Gladio’s lungs, his lips falling open as he fights not to close his eyes. Cor’s cock is still wedged between his body and Gladio’s hip, but Cor has proven that he has the infinite patience of the Astrals themselves, content to wait to find his own pleasure until Gladio’s a writhing mess beneath him. 

Gladio filters through several forms of address—sir, Marshal, Captain—before he finds the right one. “Cor,” he moans, clutching at his shoulder with one hand and fisting the sheets with the other, the compelling need to have Cor fill him erasing the last vestiges of his self-control.

The name must earn the third finger that slides in along the first two, the rough, calloused skin of them a pleasant sensation underneath the slickness of the lube. Gladio considers demanding that Cor fuck him, but he doesn’t have the energy or the fortitude tonight, mostly content to let Cor work him open on his slow, steady, thick fingers. The room isn’t hot, but Gladio begins to sweat once Cor scissors his fingers, his heart pounding furiously against his ribs. All the while, Cor never breaks eye contact, a silent demand— _watch me, look at me, know that it’s me who makes you feel this way_ —that Gladio is all too eager to acquiesce to.

A twist of Cor’s fingers as they angle towards his prostate draws a whine from Gladio; he bucks his hips, using his feet on the mattress for leverage to meet Cor halfway. Cor’s response is to let his fingers slip from Gladio, and the emptiness is almost as overwhelming as the fullness was.

Cor takes a clear bottle of lube from the nicked cherry nightstand and settles on his knees, coating his cock in lube while Gladio watches him with a gaze he’s sure is hungry and needy. When Cor climbs between his legs and pushes back one of his thighs, his grip strong and steady, Gladio’s heart leaps into his throat, his back arching off the bed of its own accord.

“Be still.” The deep, rich gravel of Cor’s voice threatens to pull Gladio’s heart from his throat entirely. Bracing himself on Gladio’s leg, Cor guides himself to his hole with his free hand. For once, he doesn’t draw the process out, sliding home as soon as he’s lined up, and Gladio could weep with relief. 

He’s home. He’s whole. _They’re_ whole.

Cor sets a quick, steady pace, his infallible patience clearly at its end. His fingers dig into the meat of Gladio’s thighs as he thrusts into Gladio, filling him with the familiar stretch of his cock, the head of it teasing at Gladio’s rim each time he eases back. This is what he’s been craving since Cor walked through the door: Cor holding his legs back, snapping his hips into Gladio, the rhythmic slap of skin punctuating each motion.

Gladio doesn’t know if such a thing as perfect exists in a world being consumed by darkness and daemons, but if there is, this is it. His world becomes Cor above him, leaning his weight on Gladio, each contact of skin on skin a carnal revivification of his spirit. Whatever words he can’t say— _they_ can’t say—Gladio can show, demonstrating his appreciation in lengthy moans and bucking hips and sharp gasps. They fuck as well as they do most things in tandem, by wordless instinct alone, connecting the jagged edges of their desire into one cohesive whole.

As Cor begins to grunt with each powerful thrust, shoving Gladio’s legs back even further, he takes himself in hand, stroking his cock in time with Cor’s motions. He’s going to come sooner than usual, he knows it, and the way Cor pares him down to nerves and need with that pale blue gaze only speeds the process along. Though so much unspoken litters the path between them, shame doesn’t factor into it; if he breaks, Cor will be there to put him back together, no questions asked.

So he fractures.

The light that blossoms behind Gladio’s eyelids as he comes stirs a memory of the absent sun. His climax drags him into bliss like a rip tide, muscles twitching and back arching, the mattress creaking as Gladio spills warm release all over his stomach and chest. There’s a moan that might be his—no, that _is_ his—as his hand falls away from his cock, the afterglow buoying him back up to the surface.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Cor says through gritted teeth, driving his hips into Gladio hard and fast, bed shaking with the force of his efforts. His grip on Gladio’s thighs is almost painful, and there’s a faint burn in his hip flexors from the stretch of the position; it’s all worth it when Cor buries himself to the hilt, gives a harsh grunt, and tosses his head back, cock pulsing faintly inside Gladio as he fills him with come. Even in the darkness, Gladio can see Cor’s muscles flex and tense, can see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard and releases one shuddering exhale.

It doesn’t take long for Cor to lower Gladio’s legs and settle on top of him, both of their chests heaving in a surfeit of pleasure, the smell of sex hanging thick and cloying in the air. It takes even less time for Cor’s clean hand to thread through Gladio’s hair just before their lips meet, their tongues finding each other in a messy, passionate kiss. This too is part of the routine, this trading of sloppy kisses as the searing radiance of climax fades, and it’s the part of the routine Gladio misses the most when Cor’s gone.

“Thought you’d be too tired for all that,” Gladio says against Cor’s mouth, his hands splayed along Cor’s lower back, fingers worrying at the dimples there. 

“You complaining?” Cor asks, capturing Gladio’s lips in another kiss. He tightens his grip in Gladio’s hair ever so slightly as he nibbles at his lip.

“No.” _Why would I?_ “Hell no.” _I love you._

“Good,” Cor says, lips curving in a rare smile against the corner of Gladio’s mouth, and then they’re kissing again in the darkness, a reunion of the best kind.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated if you enjoyed. <3
> 
> Come find me over on [Tumblr](http://aliatori.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AliatoriEra).


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